Facet of Your Personality
by Burningbridges
Summary: Ever wonder what goes on in the mind of a zombie? A zombie, with the intelligence of a living person explores the city shortly after he dies, trying to adapt to being dead and looking for his friends and family... Takes place during RE3.
1. It Begins

Another story added to my "Harcourt Brace Collection" – stories (mostly Final Fantasy) based on prompts from this workbook that went with my fifth grade literature book. I was looking through that flimsy red writer's journal again, and I found some activity I filled in on a whim back before high school about some story (I think) I read in fifth grade called "Like Jake and Me". I'm trying to mix my fics up a bit so I don't get bored, since I have sever Final Fantasy stories going at this time, and I decided to do this one – featuring Nicholai and a random zombie – and mostly serious. Read up, peeps.

Please note (yet again): All the questions I'm answering in this little series (i.e. anything in bold), is copyright to Harcourt Brace & Company – I'm not making profit from this, so please don't sue me. And you know whom the characters belong to (Capcom)

The titles are my own, and original page titles noted.

Facet Of Your Personality

By Burning Bridges

(Activity's original title: 'A Spider Has Feelings, Too')

For the scenario, all I'm gonna say is… Nicholai **is **"unavoidably brutal", just kidding **when the **zombie casually strolls up to him **in **this scenario. **If you had been the **zombie**, what would you have thought about **Nicholai's **reaction? What would you have done? Rewrite from the **zombie**'s point of view the story of… **Blah, blah, blah… You know, I always wanted to write a story for children called 'If Zombies Were Intelligent' – here's my chance to practice with that concept. It'll start with Nicholai's journal, and then go to the end in the Zombie's thoughts.

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Meandering through the pages of Nicholai's computer journal:

This is crazy! I wish I'd never set eyes upon this God forsaken Raccoon City… It just seems like lately nothing will go right – dogs, explosions, the undead – and now this!

I was scouring the city as usual, when I came across a drove of zombies milling around indiscreetly as they usually do. I shot them all "dead" with my assault rifle, and went to continue on through the door at the end of the pathway. To my dismay, when I turned around, one of those repulsive creatures (whose head leaned to one side, its neck having been partially been chewed through) had gotten back up and was slowly coming at me. I waited until it was a few feet away, and then, producing a magnum, and shot it right in the neck a few times. When it hit the ground, I examined "him" from a safe distance.

He was about 6'4", with what appeared to have once been auburn hair now nearly black from all the blood that it soaked up when he died from a massive jugular wound – and whomever he'd eaten since then. He was nearly decapitated now, his neck being so full of holes that there was barely anything left. His bloodstained shirt (reading "DK" – with a few bullet holes in it now) was shredded in several spots, as if he'd been attacked by something with large claws.

"Eh," I shrugged, "It's dead. It has to be. Might as well leave it to be picked at by crows."

I left the death-filled alley through the door.

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I blinked a couple of times, unsure of what had just occurred. I slowly began to sit up, only for my head to slump to one side and tear completely off. It rolled a couple yards down the alley, and I cursed to myself in my mind. I hadn't been able to do anything more than groan in the first place, but now that my vocal cords were destroyed, well…

"How am I even still alive? Err… Alive in the sense of being undead, that is… Zombies – that is what I am, I suppose – are supposed to drop after getting shot in the head, aren't they? I remember taking a couple out before I died, and they didn't come back… And that guy shot me quite a few times. Ugh… My head hurts… How can I feel it, anyway? It's not attached… And how will I eat?"

I pushed off the ground, awkwardly getting to my feet, and stumbling down the alleyway towards my head. I couldn't see where I was going, since my head wasn't anywhere near my body, and I ended up kicking it further down the alleyway.

"This isn't going to work," I muttered in my mind, dropping back onto the ground and crawling around on the pavement feeling for my head. I finally felt something move when I put my hand forward, and I gently raised my head off the ground with both hands, holding it up before my body.

"Hey! That bastard put bullet holes in the logo of my Dead Kennedys shirt! I've had this for years! … If I'm going to eat anyone, he's first!"

I tucked my head under my left arm carefully, forcing myself back to my feet only to nearly trip over a box as soon as I stood. Catching myself, I turned and glared at the box, only to be gripped by near euphoria when I spotted a combat knife sticking from the rubbish inside.

"Hm… I could use that!" I thought happily, picking it up and sticking it halfway into my pocket. I was starting to thirst for blood again, and I knew I'd need to find someone to sustain my appetite. I had been following the others to do just that.

"Why do zombies need to feed, anyway? We're dead! … There's a lot I don't get about this stuff..."

I shrugged to myself as much as was physically possible, considering how rigid my muscles were. Perhaps there were things in this world we just weren't meant to understand…

"Now if I could only find some tunes, I'd be set!"

Along with my thirst for blood, had come an urge for music. Probably as a by-product from my… "level of sophistication" compared to my undead companions. I could always find that Russian jerk later. It shouldn't be that hard – he smelled pretty strongly of warmth and cologne…

I scrutinized my surroundings, not seeing much of anything that would interest me, or be useful. I staggered down the street a little ways before I spotted one of my favorite places when I was still alive – the pizza parlor! Curious to see what had become of the place since disease hit the city, I wandered up to the door and put my hand on the doorknob. But when I tried to tighten my grasp to turn it, my fingers were too stiff. With a deep sigh (or what sounded like one in my mind), I set my head down on the street and interlaced my fingers. With a loud crack reminiscent of a sternum being split, I retrieved my cranium, and turned the knob clumsily.

"Damn, it's hard to open doors when you're dead."

It was dark inside. The only light came from the windows, which were nearly covered with boards. The floor was littered with garbage, and the air carried a faint smell of decaying roses, and old dough. There was no sign that anyone had been inside for a long time… No blood, no corpses, no sign of people.

I walked maladroitly over to the counter, where there were still pizzas stacked waiting to be delivered. The stereo had been left on a local station, but there was no sound except that of radio silence. I hit some buttons, trying to check other stations and hit CD by accident. I was greeted by the first melody I'd heard since this all began – Bocelli's 'Cante Petiro', a song I could only remember from somewhere long, long ago; a lullaby being sung to a crimson monster…

I sighed in my mind again, and listened to the tune as it drifted, and filled the shadowy haven, intoning to whatever now lay outside. I went into the kitchen, which, to my surprise, was lighted by an unblocked window hidden from the outside by a bright green bush. Boxes and other paraphernalia lay in its usual place around the kitchen. Some flour scattered on the floor was the only thing out of place at all. An oven in the corner was eerily warm as I passed it, suggesting that the wood had burned for a very long time before it went out.

"Warm," I said, and I remembered the feeling of sunlight. "Man, I miss the sun right now."

Bocelli was still singing the Cante, a heavenly voice breaking through the grim residue of what this place had once been. I was beginning to feel down hearted when I spotted another room I hadn't noticed before. I lurched around the corner, and found that it was a coatroom. The employees' belongings still sat on the shelves, not having been touched in a while.

"There must be a CD player here somewhere…"

I rifled through various coats and bags before I finally found one. It was a matte blue, decorated with little pictures relating to a movie release of the time. I carried it in my free hand, and went back out to the counter, where I popped the disk (apparently called "Brenda's Mix") out of the stereo, and into the CD player. Before I could leave, though, I decided to try the radio one more time.

I hit the radio button, and messed around with others until I thankfully heard a voice coming through – a woman's voice.

"This is Lauren T., reporting for 89.3 IMAT. There has been no word from anyone inside of Raccoon City within the past few weeks, and all attempts to find out exactly what's going on have met with dead-ends. Supposedly, the city was being quarantined to prevent a mass outbreak of a disease, which no one outside the city has been able to identify. Some say the government is to blame…"

"Damn right," I said, putting the headphones on my cranium securely, and hitting play.

The street outside was starting to succumb to nightfall, and the clouds that blocked out the setting sun were getting heavy with rain. There was no sign of any other zombies in the vicinity, so I had the whole place to myself.

Slowly, I was becoming more aware of my hunger, and I suddenly understood what made the others stupid with bloodlust… Not that they weren't mentally impaired in their undead state, anyway…

Maybe I didn't have to resort to that just yet. I hadn't been undead for THAT long… I barely even knew anything about being a zombie in my "still intelligent" status. The other zombies survived on instinct alone. Maybe I didn't need to kill anyone yet; I could get by on something else…

I thought it over, and by far, I figured the one thing I'd need after an ordeal like this (if I was still alive) was a cup of coffee. There was a café not far from the pizza parlor, and I decided to give it a whirl. I wasn't sure how… But I'd figure that out when I got there.

The streets were abnormally silent, whereas a short time ago they had always been bustling with people. On any other night like this, you would see any number of cliques mixing on the sidewalks, while in the back streets drug dealers would be hard at work in the shadowy recesses of humanity.

But that had all been erased.

A light drizzle had begun in the time it took me to walk to the café, and the delicate breeze carried the fresh scent of moisture everywhere, blotting out the surprisingly pleasant reek of death. Someone had raised the coffee shop's fire shutter, and I could see that, unlike the pizza parlor, it was well lit inside. I paused the CD in my player, the Cante just about to end, and turned the knob with more ease than the last.

Opening the door, I was enveloped by the cold air from the outside rushing into the building. The aroma of over-brewed coffee met me, and I staggered inwards, starting to fully contemplate how I was going to go about "drinking" coffee, when my head was no longer attached to the rest of me.

"I don't think I can get my head back on without a medical stapler or something… But maybe I could use a funnel…"

I knew somewhere in the kitchen there had to be a funnel. Everybody has a funnel, don't they?

The kitchen was humid, and all the coffeemakers were still on, suggesting that the last inhabitants had left in a mad rush. In the sink, there were still dishes submerged in murky green water, and above that, the only window in the whole place was steamed up. I reached over, my stiff finger just touching the cool glass, and slowly spelling out the words 'I WAS HERE', in shaky lettering that bled droplets of condensed moisture in little streams down it's surface.

What would someone think if they lived to see it?

Turning away from the window, I spotted drawers in the counter to my left. I opened one, and it was full of cutting utensils. Another was various measuring instruments, and another was towels. After maybe ten drawers, I finally found a small funnel, just small enough that I could maneuver into the remnant of my esophagus without jamming it into my trachea. I found a mug, and poured some of the beyond-brewed coffee into it, deciding to just drink it straight-up black.

Carefully, I felt around what was left of my shredded neck, finally locating the esophageal hole, and ever so fastidiously pushing the end of the funnel in. I didn't technically have a gag reflex anymore, but I got a stomach-turning feeling from it, and decided I better do this fast. I took the mug, and poured the hot liquid down my throat, setting it back down. It wasn't long before my stomach gave a disgruntled lurch, and I knew I wouldn't be able to live off anything other than flesh and blood. I pulled the funnel out, and tossed it into the sink without another thought.

"Guess I'll have to find some animal protein… Perhaps…"

I headed for the door, hitting play on my CD player, and hearing Bocelli sing the last few words, before Pearl Jam's 'Jeremy' commenced as I grabbed some chalk off the chalkboard menu, and exited the café. I figured now would be a good time as any to seek out that Russian dude, and so I headed off towards the place where we first encountered each other, in a quixotically good mood. I didn't know exactly what I'd do when I met up with him, but I knew it wouldn't be easy. And, I'd probably end up eating him…

The alley where my head rolled was no longer filled with the zombies I had followed in there, and my best guess was that they had gotten up and wandered off while I had been exploring. The Russian had closed the door behind him, and I had a little trouble turning the knob, since my hand was slowly stiffening again. I twisted it as much as possible, and slammed into the door with my shoulder, sending it swinging right into the wall, and myself into the ground.

"Ouch…"

There was a startled 'What the Hell?' and I repositioned my head so I could see who it was. Of course, it was the Russian. He raised his assault rifle, and said, in an increasingly distressed tone, "But I killed you… How come you won't die!"

I didn't want to give him the immediate impression that I was going to attack, so I moved slowly to my feet, and stared at him. He didn't seem to know what to do. Thinking quickly, I knelt, pulling a piece of chalk out of my pocket with my free hand, and beginning to write on the pavement to the Russian's near horror. In sloppy lettering reminiscent of a child, I scrawled the words 'I DON'T WANT TO HURT YOU'.

"How… How are you still… 'alive'?" he managed, still unsteadily aiming his rifle.

'DON'T KNOW' I scribbled. 'NEED HELP'.

"Why should I help you?" I could smell his fear from way over here, and it made my nose sting.

'WAS HUMAN. NEED FOOD.'

He thought for a long time, watching me cautiously, ready to shoot if he had to.

"Right," he said quietly, not quite looking directly at me. He pointed to himself, "Nicholai."

'I AM TRAVIS.' I wrote, and somehow a smile spread across the features of my decapitated head.

I hope this was… interesting.

Yeah, the whole 'head-being-able-to-function-after-decapitation' thing is a bit of a mystery borrowed from things such as "Kingdom Hospital" – I actually thought of the headless dude from that while I was writing. That was my favorite episode, where he found his head, and he was carrying it around by the hair! And that bit about the Cante and a 'crimson monster', was a reference to Sesame Street – I think that's the song Bocelli sang to Elmo.

I think I'll add onto this; write a prequel and a sequel, or something.

Either way, if you liked it or not, review and let me know what you think! And… do you think Nicholai was maybe just a tad too nice in the end? This is game-Nicholai we're talking here, the one who reminds me of R. Lee Ermey meets Sean Connery… I keep going to say Dom Deluise…


	2. Bloody Subway

Okay, the retroactive chapter two, coming at ya!

I know, it seems odd that the story suddenly goes back and shows you the past, but you'll see where it's going… Just stick with me on this one. And it seems that there are those of you who want to know how it all started, so here you go!

This chapter talks about "Travis the Zombie's" former state of life – and how he became a zombie. It may not be pretty, but if you're reading this, you more-than-likely like RE, and if that's the case, gore probably doesn't affect you.

This chapter's gonna be a little weird for me. I'm not a guy, so I normally don't write from that point of view. My main characters are usually female. So don't be surprised if Travis is sort of… Unconventional for a guy.

Oh, and thanks for the reviews on chapter one!

Chapter Two: Bloody Subway

I rolled over onto my left side, hearing the radio click on and a man's voice breaking the quiet of the room in the early morning. It was cold, and I realized that my window must have still been open from the night before, when my idiot friend Matt jumped out of my second-story window to see if he'd get hurt. Hey, I said he was stupid.

The morning light was dimmer than usual, and opening my eyes slowly, I gazed towards the window groggily. It was grey outside, the normally blue sky overcast with the promise of rain. My room almost glowed, the outside light reflecting off of the white walls and making it seem so… intense.

I lazily looked around the room, analyzing its contents and thinking maybe I should revamp the decor. It was your basic, four-wall design, with two windows on either side of the bed, and a subtle blue carpet that was badly worn and in need of replacement. The colorless walls had been decorated over the years I had lived here… posters depicting different bands that had come and gone, prints of famous paintings, and photos of places I'd like to see someday – Kyoto, Paris, and London amongst others. Over the head of my bed was a wall completely dedicated to reminding myself to do things, covered in various colors of post-it notes marked with memos.

I sighed, running my hand through my hair, and piecing together in my mind what I wanted to do on this quiet Saturday. I was still staring at the ceiling and thinking, when my German Shepherd, Robbiecomefront, jumped onto the bed and whined to tell me he was hungry. I pat him on the head and sat up, looking at the clothes scattered around the room for something to wear.

"Okay, Robbie. I'll get you something to eat in a minute."

The kitchen was oddly quiet, and stopping by the counter, I found a note from my mother. She was a pharmacist, working from 7-9 on average on the other side of the city. It was one of those times of the year when everyone starts to get sick with the flu, whooping cough, you name it, and I knew my mom would be spending less time at home and more time at work, filling prescriptions for ill families. Happened a couple of times every few months, at least.

"Travis," it said, "I had to go into work early this morning. You probably know why. I'll be home around 9:00, as usual. On your way home from hanging out with your friends, could you stop by the grocery store? The money's on the fridge, and the list is on back of this note. And feel free to order a pizza. Love, Mom."

I nodded to no one in particular, and opened a door under the marble surface on which the paper sat, pulling out a large bag of dog food and dragging it over to the dog bowl. Robbie barked playfully while I poured a decent amount of food for him, and as soon as I lifted the bag he dug in ravenously.

"Jeez, not so fast, or you'll get sick."

He ignored me and I chuckled to myself, going to the fridge and pulling out some Velveeta and Lebanon bologna to make a sandwich. Some mustard and a couple slices of bread later, I was sitting on the couch, sandwich in hand, flipping through channels. It seemed like every network was broadcasting some presidential press conference or another, though, so I put the TV Guide channel on and listened to them playing The Moody Blues while I took a few bites.

Tuesday afternoon. I'm just beginning to see now I'm on my way…

I finished the last bite, and let Robbie – now at my feet – lick the mustard off my fingers. A man had come on after the song, talking about the Mayor's latest crusade to make the city a better place. I didn't really care. I lived on the farthest edge of the city in a suburb where the rest of the conurbation seemed distant and unfamiliar, almost like we weren't even connected. I could let Robbie run loose around the neighborhood, and not worry about anyone harming him, vice versa, or what was going on everywhere else. This was our select community within the community. This was our own, tiny world.

"Come on, Robs," I said to him, passing the counter and pocketing mom's note. "I'll let you out."

Robbie took off running after sparrows as soon as we set foot outside, barking playfully and disappearing behind some houses down the street. I looked up to the skies, and saw birds flying over in strange formations. It was chilly outside this morning, and there weren't as many people out and about like there normally was; the whole place had an eerie feel to it. If I had a car, I would have taken my friends out of the city for the day. But there I was, walking along a hushed road into town, looking like a grunge band dropout, and wishing today was more interesting, like if I was in an Agatha Christie book… Although somehow, I was certain that Miss Marple or Poirot would have targeted me first as a suspect. I was kind of… eccentric, when you got right down to it. "Fiercely unique" my friends called it.

The inner parts of Raccoon City were almost as subdued as my neighborhood, and I figured it just meant everyone was either sick or had somewhere to be, like watching one of those press conferences I'd seen on TV. The bleak sky had started to spit, warning of the storm to come later. I was heading towards the warehouse, hoping that Dario wouldn't mind me stopping by really quick on my day off.

I had been working there for about a year now, mostly doing organizational tasks; mainly, my duty was to keep the office in order, alphabetize paperwork and file it away, as well as occasionally helping to move cargo. Although I often had to come to work when Dario was out on business, the job wasn't too hard and it didn't interfere with my schoolwork so I was okay with it. And, in a couple years, it would help pay for medical school.

The alley was cold and dark, overhead pipes dripping rain that pooled into puddles on the worn pavement. I paused, looking around quickly to see if there was anyone else around, and entered.

The warehouse was warm, and the transition from unpleasantly cold to temperate sent chills down my spine. I rubbed my arms wildly to warm them up, but to no avail, so rather than stand around and shiver, I began to search for Dario. He was always hiding somewhere, either tallying things or filling out papers. Just as I went to go up the stairs toward the office, a voice called out to me from the floor level.

"Hey, Travis! What are you doing here?"

I turned sharply, having to lean against the wall to catch my balance.

"Dario," I breathed heavily, "Don't scare me like that! You gave me a heart attack!"

He laughed, checking something off on a clipboard. "Did you need something, or did you just decide to work on your day off?"

"Oh, yes. I love to spend my time off at work," I said sarcastically. "I stopped by to pick up my key. I left it on the desk last night, and I'm going to need it if I'm going to be on time for work on Monday."

His tone became more serious. "Make sure you remember it next time – if you're not in the office working when I get back from my meetings, I'll have to dock your pay."

"Yeah, yeah. I know," I grumbled, walking slowly up the steps. Each footstep rang out; a metallic sound like hammers in a smith shop. The air got heavier and more humid as I climbed and by the time I'd reached the office, I was warmer than I wanted to be. I opened the door and stepped into the office, closing it behind me.

It was neat; everything was right where it should be (thanks to me), and the key was exactly where I expected – next to the typewriter where, the night before, I had been typing a report for my history class in my spare time. I pocketed the key and stopped, looking at the radio in the corner that was playing softly. A news anchor was discussing the Arklay mountain incident, which didn't particularly interest me, but it did my mom whom had been obsessing over it since it happened. She loved that kind of thing, and it made me wonder why she didn't go into forensics instead of pharmacology.

I turned back to the door, lingering a moment longer. "How did all those people die, anyway?"

I shrugged to myself, and left the office. Dario was counting off barrels and boxes, murmuring quietly about deliveries. As I came back down, he looked up and grinned.

"Have a good weekend, Travis. You did really well this week."

"Thanks, Dario," I said with a smile. He wasn't the type to give compliments usually, and that meant a lot to me that he had said something nice today. I continued towards the main door, but stopped before I opened it.

"Hey," I said mellifluously. "What are you going to write that novel about?"

He laughed softly, and for the first time ever since I'd known him, he seemed a little sad. "I don't know yet, but you'll find out when I do. You're a good kid. Don't let the world change you."

"I won't," I said, opening the old, colorless door and letting the cold air gather around me as I left the warehouse for the weekend.

The streets were crowded as usual, cars of people entering or leaving the city for the next two days or so; tourists especially, despite the recent cold spell that had pushed the warm weather south. They waited, some patiently, some impatiently, music playing in each of their warm refuges. I walked past them slowly, listening to the selections with secret delight. I loved music; it made me who I was and it defined my existence. Without music, I'd probably be a mental case.

I was getting close to my friends' normal meeting place. We would normally congregate and wander until we found a location that interested us, like roving around expensive art stores, or sitting in a park as twilight fell. But today, there was a specific place we wanted to spend time… The subway.

They stood in a distorted line along the wall of the café unwearyingly, deeply engaged in watching the pedestrians exchange glances and nods, or no contact at all. There was the humorist of the group, Matt; slightly stiff from his "daring" jump the night before, Esther; the artist, who enjoyed wearing oriental clothes most of the time, her little sister, and Aranel; the virtuoso.

"Hey, Trav," Matt said weakly, taking a few slow steps towards me and raising his hand to meet mine in a high five.

"Not feeling well?" I asked and he smiled.

"I'm fine."

"Only you," Aranel said, "Could be 'fine' while covered in bruises and cuts from rocks. And in your condition, I'm surprised you're not in a wheelchair."

Esther laughed, as Matt slung his arm over my shoulder and used me as a crutch. As much as I wanted to push him off because he'd gotten injured out of his own lack of common sense, I refrained. He had been my best friend since elementary school, and I figured I owed him that much.

"So, are we going to the subway, or what?" Esther asked, crossing her arms tightly against her blue mandarin top to warm herself.

"Let's; I think it's getting colder," Aranel said, and Matt nodded, leaning more heavily on me and eyeing the sky.

"Matt, let up a little, will you? I won't be able to move if you keep weighing down on me like that," I complained to the taller boy.

Esther turned and gave me a serious glare. "Don't even try to palm him off on me. I helped him get down here."

"I won't," I said with a smirk as she began to lead us.

The walk to the subway had been abnormally quiet. On any other day, we would have talked about the recent gossip in the school, or the different sights we happened to see on our walk while Matt joked around, but today the ominous feeling that hung in the air stopped us. It was like everything in the city was trying to warn us, tell us that something horrible was about to happen. But it didn't seem like anything seriously worrying. The most recent happening that had been even remotely disquieting was a rash of murders involving deranged people… Nothing any city didn't see sooner or later.

The subway itself was full of people waiting to commute, standing around in queues. We sat down on a long bench a few yards from one of the lines, watching people come and go. The near-silence was starting to bug me, and I decided to break it myself.

"Have any of you been hearing those reports about the Arklay incident?"

"Who hasn't?" Esther scoffed, "It's everywhere. In the papers, on the internet, on the news, the radio…"

"I heard it was basically a mass murder… But they don't know much about what went down. The only investigators are from Umbrella, and they wouldn't release any info."

"So as not to cause a panic," Aranel said matter-of-factly.

"What do you think… happened?" I asked quietly, and the others shrugged.

"Probably some crazy bastard. You've heard about the crime sprees lately. Or maybe they all killed themselves, like Heavens Gate."

"The mass suicide doesn't seem highly likely," Esther said. "I heard some of them were all chewed up, and missing limbs. Sounds more like the Texas Chainsaw Massacre."

"What? Skin-suits and cannibalism? Are you serious?" Matt laughed.

"Anything's possible with Umbrella running the show," I said in a whisper, and Matt gave me a funny look.

"Not you, too! There are so many reasons why that can't be the case. One - ."

I didn't pay attention. My mind focused on the nearby camera surveying the subway, which I was certain said "Property of Umbrella Corporation" on it somewhere. It was watching us, watching me, and prying into our lives. For that one moment, I felt like I hated that company with every fiber of my being, although they provided for the country – and myself – on huge scales.

In a line nearby, there stood a youthful man in a white lab coat, a heavy overcoat draped over his arm. He swayed uncomfortably back and forth, seemingly not well. I watched the man, wondering what ailment was possessing him at this particular time. He'd probably go off to work, spend the day coughing or sweating out a fever, and go home to take some medicine. At least, that's what I thought.

The man retched suddenly, collapsing to his knees; he propped himself up from the floor, arms outstretched and head down, probably trying to catch his breath. A few people came to his aid, one of which was a redhead in a furry coat. She put her hand on his shoulder, and kneeled beside him, almost certainly asking if he was alright. I couldn't hear her words, since Matt was still chattering, but I assumed that something was wrong when she suddenly jumped to her feet and stepped back.

The man in white lunged at her, growling. A couple people grabbed him by the arms, restraining the man, now howling and struggling wildly. A few people were dialing cell phones quickly, calling the police. The man managed to break lose from his restrainers, and bit one of them, tearing a good-sized amount of flesh from the guy's arm. His victim screamed, while other's tried to pry the man in white off of him. They finally succeeded, and the wounded guy held his arm tightly, while blood spurt from between his fingers due to an arterial tear.

A couple of cops came running down into the subway, shouting at the citizens to stand clear. The onlookers quickly moved out of the way, and the cops approached the group holding the man in white back.

"Get down!" one of them shouted, and the man just hissed loudly, trying to get at the cop.

"Get down, now!" the cop shouted again, trying to sound more intimidating, but apparently beginning to feel a nervous sense of confusion. This was probably his first time responding to one of the "deranged attacker" cases that had been popping up all over Raccoon City, and that was now playing out right before our eyes.

The man in white wrenched his one arm free, and took a few awkward steps toward the bewildered officer, dragging the person holding his other arm along behind him. The cop took a step back, holding his magnum up to the man's head.

"Don't come any closer!" he said, but the man in white didn't oblige. Rather, he grabbed the cop's arm and went to bite him, but the other cop shot him in the leg trying to maim the man. The man in white faltered momentarily, allowing the "near-victim" to back away and re-aim his magnum, before ripping his other arm from captivity. He gave a loud groan and headed for the cop again, not paying any mind to the other one's shouting.

Just before the man made it to the alarmed cop, the other took aim and shot him in the back a few times.

The man in white hit the floor, and didn't move from that spot.

The two cops examined him cautiously, radioing in to head quarters to report the situation. The one that had gotten freaked out looked for an ID in the man's pockets while his partner made a few calls. Paramedics soon arrived to take care of the bleeding man, and an Umbrella official came to take the body of the attacker for investigation.

As the two cops tried to reassure the citizens that had been standing in lines waiting for their ride, I slowly turned to look over at my friends. They were rigid, still staring wide-eyed at the spot where the man in white had fallen. I opened my mouth to speak, but I couldn't form words. I wasn't sure what I'd just watched, or why it happened. All I knew was a man was dead, and another wounded badly. Eventually, I managed to speak softly.

"Do… Do you… Want to leave?"

Esther stood silently, and began to head for the way out of the subway, followed eventually by the petrified Aranel. I looked at Matt, whom looked like he was about to break down.

"Matt, are you… all right?"

He gradually looked over to me, his mouth hanging open. "Are you?"

I thought for a long time, and shook my head. "No."

"Then let's get the hell out of here…"

I helped Matt up, guiding him out of the subway and to the surface, where Esther and Aranel were huddled together near the ground.

"Esther…" I said in a hushed tone, "Are you okay?"

She didn't answer. She just looked at me, her eyes full of chaos as she tried to sort out what happened. She was normally so cool and collected, and it aggrieved me to see her like that.

"Come on, let's go back. We shouldn't stay here," I said, and they both got up, heading for home.

We walked in complete silence until we reached the café where we'd met up earlier. Matt leaned against the wall heavily, staring at the ground, his typically jovial features twisted into a grave expression.

"I think we should all go home." They looked at me for a long time.

"I agree," Aranel said.

Esther took a deep breath and spoke. "I'll take you home, Matt."

"I'll see you guys later," I said, and they collectively nodded.

"Later," Matt added.

I walked on alone, trying to block what I'd seen out of my mind and failing miserably. I had been there, watched a man die. I wasn't sure if I'd ever recover from the shock I felt, and although I'd rather have gone home, I knew I needed to stop at the supermarket for my mom, since she wouldn't be able to do it. I walked slowly until I got there, picking up one of the red baskets and proceeding to gather the things on my mother's list.

The attendant had the radio on, listening to a report on a disease that was supposedly spreading across the city. I paid them no mind at the checkout, figuring that just meant that mom would have more work, and I'd be on my own at home a lot more.

I left the grocery store feeling like I couldn't wait to get home and drown my despondency in music. I walked with my eyes on the ground, watching the concrete go by, until I happened to look up at the window to the electronics shop, where each TV on display had a different breaking news report on, all about the same thing. I looked at the screens in disbelief, reading the captioning below the reporter's names.

One simply stated 'City being closed off to prevent spread of infection'.

I went inside, holding the brown paper bag in my arm tightly. There were other people in there, watching the news reports in complete silence. "What's happening?"

The man behind the counter looked up at me, and nodded in acceptance. "Another one comes in to see... Well, they're closing off the city because there's some infection going around."

"They who?"

"Umbrella. Sounds like it's a bad disease, too. Really dangerous."

"Thanks," I murmured, walking out briskly, and heading towards my house as fast as I could.

"Hey," a voice said not far behind me, and I turned to see Esther.

"Esther?"

"There's an outbreak of some disease. Umbrella's closing off the city."

"I heard," I said, "I thought you were heading home."

"We were until we heard the news. The others and I are heading to the city entrance to find out what the hell's going on. We'll be in touch." She hugged me for a long time. "Stay safe, Trav."

When she started to pull away, I hugged back, holding her in a strong embrace. I didn't want to let go; part of me wanted to go with her, guard her and the others from what was unfolding all around.

"I'll be waiting," I said. "And take care of the others."

"Of course," she smiled, turning to go. "See you soon."

"Anon, Esther," I said quietly, watching her jog off into the crowds that were quickly forming in the streets.

It was deathly still outside of my house. The clouds covering the sun had begun to turn black, turning the day to night. There were no longer birds singing, and the streets were completely empty. Most of the neighbors cars were gone, and the houses quiet and dark inside. I unlocked the door as quickly as I could, looking around for any sign of Robbie.

"He'll probably come home soon," I said to myself, taking one last look and stepping inside.

I put the groceries away, hoping that by occupying myself I could suppress the horror I was still feeling. Everything had been fine yesterday; I had gone to school, gone to work, spent time with my friends…

My friends. I wondered what they were doing right now. More than likely standing in a crowd of thousands listening to an explanation of why the city was succumbing to disease. How did this all happen? How did the lot go from being perfectly ordinary to crazy in twenty-four hours?

My stomach rumbled, and I looked at the phone. I didn't want to eat after having watched a man die a couple hours ago, but my stomach said otherwise. I shook my head, wishing I could forget it for at least five minutes, while I dialed the number to the pizza parlor. It rang for a long while before a frustrated voice answered.

"Sal here, can I take your order?" the voice asked gruffly.

"Sal, are you okay? You sound pretty pissed," I said, examining the putrid sky through the sliding door.

"Hey, Travis," he answered, taking on a slightly pleased tone. "I'm okay, it's just that everyone, but me, one of the waitresses and the chef took off in a hurry to see what was going on. It's okay, though. We haven't had one customer since the announcement. What can I do for ya?"

"Oh, the usual pepperoni. It's not too much trouble is it?"

"Of course not. I'll send someone over right away. And Travis, take care. I don't know what it is that making people sick, but it didn't sound good."

"You too, Sal. Be careful."

I hung up the phone, and walked slowly into the living room, turning on the TV. On one channel, a couple of men were arguing over why this was happening, while on another, a woman discussed the possible transmission methods of the disease… And yet another was simply messages being broadcast against a blue screen, warning us to stay inside and avoid the ill.

I stared at the screen, not fully being able to contemplate or accept what was happening.

This must be how it felt when the World Wars began, right?

I jumped, hearing a thump outside the door before it opened and my mom came in. I sighed deeply; it was good to see her now, when mankind was suddenly losing control. Of all the people I ever knew, my mother could make sense of anything. It was almost like the world had given her this dictionary-like intuition, and I never realized before this moment exactly how precious that really was.

"Travis…" She said softly, a tragic smile gracing her weary visage. "I'm so glad you're okay."

I didn't wait for her to close the door. I immediately got up and went to her like an injured child, wrapping my arms around her tightly, wanting to just tell her everything that was making my heart sick with grief.

Burying my face in her shoulder, I could feel her warmth and with that came the smell of perfume that I remembered from when I was still very young. It was pungent at first, a scent of spices from places unknown with a sprinkling of flowers that whispered of valleys nestled in mountains, soon fading to a sweet sugary aroma like chocolate.

We embraced each other, and for a wonderful moment I felt secure, like the city wasn't falling apart at the seams around me.

"I was worried about you," I said. "I didn't know what would happen once the city was closed off."

"I was worried about you, too. Everything will be fine. We're in good hands. And we always have each other." She smiled reassuringly, and closed the door.

My mother tensely sat beside me on the couch, her fingers laced together, as we watched the never-ending news reports. I had told her about the incident at the subway, trying to relieve the uncertainty that had been eating at my mind since then. It was good to get it off my chest and my mother, like most I know, had been appalled to hear what occurred. She had taken the anxiety on herself, though she tried to keep an optimistic face on things. And as we listened to what was developing, she grew more and more ill at ease.

"Mom, we'll be all right. You said so yourself," I tried to encourage her.

She gave me a faint grin. "I know… It's just… I'm worried about your Aunt Kathy."

Aunt Kathy was my mom's best friend, and close enough to be called an Aunt despite the lack of family relation. She was a single mother herself, with two fifth-grade girls, and my mom was likely concerned that she would need some help preparing for the quarantine.

I nodded. "Do you want to go see her really quick, make sure she's good to go?"

My mom thought for a minute. "I think I will. Can you keep everything in order until I get back?"

"Of course," I said, sure enough that I'd be fine for a little while.

My mother was quickly preparing to visit Aunt Kathy, and before I even noticed, she was at the front door. "I'll be back ASAP. If anything happens, call right away."

"I will," I agreed, and she paused before opening the door.

"Travis," she said, giving me a smile that made the room seem brighter suddenly, "I love you."

"I love you too, mom," I said and she closed the door.

I listened to the TV for a while after managing to eat a slice of pizza, starting to doze. An anchorwoman was cautioning viewers about how to protect themselves. At some point as I drifted off, I thought I heard a scream from the TV, but being too far into sleep to open my eyes, I disregarded it.

I woke up around 2am, and the house was as I'd left it while I was awake; the lights were still on, the pizza box still open on the table and the door locked. Sitting up slowly, I looked at the TV, which had become silent before I woke. To my surprise, no one was sitting at the desk – yet the camera was still running. And there were papers scattered messily all over the desktop.

"Hm… Maybe something came up and they couldn't ignore it…"

I looked around the room again, and realized my mom's coat wasn't on the rack. Trying to be rational, I presumed that she might have come home and gone right up to her room to go to sleep – but that didn't explain everything being left the way it was. My mom was very methodical; she would have turned everything off, and put the pizza away. I got up quickly and looked out the window, searching for any trace of her Buick… but seeing nothing at all.

It was dark outside, except for an eerie pinkish-orange glow in the sky that seemed to radiate from inside the city. The houses were all shrouded in shadow, and there didn't appear to be any evidence that anyone was there, or had been there for a long time. Striding quickly over to the phone, I dialed Aunt Kathy's number and listened to the rings impatiently, counting them uneasily in my head.

After several minutes, no one had answered.

At this point, I knew there had to be something going on. My mom wasn't home, there was no answer at Kathy's house, and every local TV station was down. I went to the door, deciding that I would go out to look for my mom and aunt. I had no clue what was happening out there, but I was determined to find out.

Stepping outside, I found the entire block was dark. There was no light of any kind coming from the houses I could see, and the streetlights (normally painting the road blue at night) were out. I shuddered observing the otherworldly gloom, and tried to quiet the feeling that something horrible had happened.

"What happened here?" I said quietly, and was startled when a nearby bush rustled in reply. "Robbiecomefront?" I questioned, shining my flashlight on the shrubbery.

He tottered out from the bush, and I took a few steps back awkwardly in distress. His once gold and black fur was now dyed with blood, and in his mouth was something that looked like a Tibia.

"Robbie?" I managed and he began to growl, the bone still clamped in his jaws. "Robbie, what's the matter with you?"

He wasn't the friendly Robbie I had raised from a puppy anymore. Something had happened, just what I don't know, but Robbie apparently wasn't faring too well if he was carrying a human bone in his mouth. I cursed myself in my mind for locking the front door when I came out, looking around quickly for anyplace to go because I knew this encounter with my dog was quickly turning septic. My adjoining neighbors door was wide open, and I bolted for the house as fast as I could, Robbie barking wildly at my heels.

I climbed the front steps, slamming the door behind me just before Robbie could reach it. He barked madly, jumping at the windows and eying me like a steak.

What had happened to my amiable Robbie? He would never have hurt anyone; quite possibly, he may have been the German Shepherd least likely to attack even a burglar. But something had changed him, just like something had changed the man in white at the subway station.

I glanced around the room, shining my flashlight on the closest wall and spotting a shotgun. I stared at it for a long time, considering my options. I knew I'd never make it out of the house with Robbie trying to pound the front door down… I also knew that in his "rabid" state, Robbie was better off being put down. I took it down from the wall, checking to see if it was loaded and turning to face the door sadly. First the disease breaks out, then my mom goes missing, and then I end up in a live reenactment of 'Old Yeller'. Somehow, I didn't think it was going to get much worse than this.

I went towards the window, waiting for Robbie to come into view. He stood up against the window, catching sight of me and barking. I turned the safety off and cocked it, taking aim and slowly beginning to pull back the trigger. Robbie jumped up to the window again, and I fired, knocking him to the ground dead. I sank to the floor, still holding the shotgun, and breathing deeply. Robbie had been my closest companion for many, many years and now he was dead.

He didn't look like Robbie laying there covered in blood, his features still pulled back in a growling expression. I ran my hand over his shoulder a few times, taking a last look.

"Goodbye, Robbie… You were the best dog I ever knew… And I'll really miss you… See you again someday…" I sobbed, wiping my eyes furiously and trying to stop. But it was no use. It hurt me deeply, and this was a wound I couldn't just push away.

I headed into the city, feeling overcome by this day and wishing I could just rewind back to an earlier time, and take everyone I loved on a long vacation while this happened. What a stupid thing to think about – I knew there was no going back now. I was stuck here until someone found me, and I had to stay in the present. The past made no difference at this point.

I brought the shotgun closer to my chest, holding it tightly. I knew that if what happened to the man in white was happening to others, I would need this shotgun to defend myself… As much as I would have rather just put it down and left it.

Up ahead in the street, I saw a few people wandering around aimlessly. I approached with caution, finally stopping short as they began to come at me.

"Hey, do any of you know what happened here?"

No response, except some groans that reminded me of what happened in the subway. They weren't normal people anymore, and I knew from what I'd seen that if I waited much longer they'd try to attack me. So I did the only thing I could do – kill them.

I didn't know for certain, but I figured the disease was causing them to become whatever they were… Zombies… Apparently lusting for human flesh. I didn't want to become like that. I didn't want to be mindless, eat humans…

Getting near Aunt Kathy's apartment, I didn't see any lights on inside any of the buildings, which made me worry… But for some reason, the streetlights were on here… And somewhere nearby I heard music playing in the dead silence.

Kathy's building was quiet, except for the music, which I now knew was coming from her apartment. I stepped inside gingerly, looking around with the flashlight until I found the source of the music. The CD function of the stereo had been left on repeat, playing Bruce Springsteen's "Secret Garden" to an empty audience. There was no one in sight, and I could only imagine where they could have gone to as I searched each room while Bruce kept singing.

In one room, the closet door gave a soft creak when I entered, and I went towards it to see if there was something in there. I pulled the door around slowly and something grabbed a hold of me with huge claws, sinking its fangs deep into my neck.

And that's all I remember until I woke up.

And that's how Travis died. The whole "Secret Garden" thing – that was inspired a while ago when I was playing RE3 and it came on the radio. Somehow, I guess it just made an impression.

The next chapter will discuss what happened when he came to – as a deadie, of course – and that's when Nicholai will be back (along with Carlos and Mikhail), and you'll see what comes up next – and boy do I have plans! This time, though, Nicholai is going to be his caustic old self. La Mouette Lunaire had a point about Nicholai being a little too nice. I think I like him better being a "crazy-whack job-kill-everyone" type. So, I'm revamping him a bit, and getting a more normal Nicholai. He's probably lurking around the outside of my house with an assault rifle right now.

To those who reviewed, I'm glad you all liked it! Hopefully you'll like this as well.

And it's that time again, folks! Like it or not, review and let me know what could change and what was great! … Oh, and the end was a little fast because I was in a hurry.


	3. In an Asbestos Suit

_Wow, I last updated this, like, a million years ago…Since then, I could just never think of anything to write. Now I'm just completely uninspired for everything else and I need something to do, so I'm updating this._

_It's weird; after I stopped working on this, I became friends with a guy named Travis (who I write with). And Travis the character was actually named after this Irish guy I went to school with who loved to make documentaries…_

_Anyway, here's a new installment. And, if you haven't realized, Travis met his fate at the hands –err, claws – of a licker… A creature I'm not particularly fond of._

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Chapter Three: In An Asbestos Suit

_…The secret garden…_

I opened my eyes, seeing nothing but darkness and blinking several times. For a moment I thought that maybe it had just been a dream… Maybe this whole thing was a figment of my imagination…

Not a chance.

My neck ached and, slowly, I brought my hand up to my throat, feeling the lacerations from the jaws that had crushed my windpipe, as well as severed my jugular. Congealed blood had hardened over them, holding the flesh together with their delicate force.

I was dead… I had to be… I must be one of them now…

I let my hand drop back to my side dejectedly, a sound akin to a whimper escaping my lips. It was over. I had become one of them, a creature wandering the earth in a state between life and death, wreaking havoc in order to exist. No more dreams, no chance to become anyone, no chance to live my life.

Laying there, staring at the shadows of raindrops falling across the ceiling in the dim light, I would have been crying if I could. But the undead can't cry… can they?

I didn't know what to do. I mean, I knew what the man at the subway had done… And I remembered the stories in the newspapers… But I wasn't like they were. I didn't want to eat anybody, but a craving for blood was beginning to well up in me and I was afraid I wouldn't have any choice soon.

I sighed deeply, wondering if, for some reason, I was the only clueless one of them. The shadows on the ceiling had begun to disappear, heralding the break of dawn, but as I allowed my eyes to wander curiously to the window a few feet away, I found it was still very dark outside. I didn't know why.

I slowly tried to sit up, my body having stiffened since my last moment of being Travis the Human, and ended up flat on my back again. I placed my hands squarely on the floor and pushed myself into a sitting position, my spine giving a loud crack and my head hanging to the right slightly. I didn't move for a while, waiting for the muscles to relax and looking at my bloodstained jeans, now shredded in spots. A few tears in my Dead Kennedys Tee served as a calling card from the monster that killed me. It was weird… Thinking that I'm dead…

There was a thudding sound from the living room, where Bruce Springsteen was still singing, and I felt a slight twinge of alarm. I didn't know what it could be, and with my previous luck it was probably bad. I sat perfectly still, my eyes fixed on the faintly illuminated wall outside the door.

There was a scraping sound that made me want to shudder, and a shadow split the wall in half. The scratching continued every couple of seconds and with each the shadow grew longer, moving across the wall towards the door. I watched tensely as the monster that slaughtered me slowly crept into view. It growled, swishing its long tongue around in a mocking fashion while examining me before it continued on into another room.

I wasn't sure why it didn't seem to care that I was… "with it", but for whatever reason it chose to ignore me. Maybe it only ate living things…

I opened my mouth in an attempt to whisper the words 'thanks a lot', but the only sound I could utter was a low moan. It made sense; I had never heard a zombie say anything before, but I'd always figured that was because they were supposed to be mentally deficient. The ones I had seen definitely didn't seem capable of much more than understanding the concept of feeding.

Maybe there weren't many like me… Maybe I was the only one like this… But why?

It was at a time like this I would have asked my mom what she thought, but I didn't know where she was. Or if she was even alive.

My heart sank. I had never once in my life questioned what would happen if my mom wasn't there for me, nor did I want to start now. I repressed the thought, telling myself in my mind that my mother was probably somewhere safe right now, but deep down I knew there was a chance I'd never see her again.

I gradually forced myself to my feet, trying to stretch a little before I took my first uneasy step towards the door. I didn't think the monster in the other room would bother me now, but I couldn't care less. The only thing on my mind was figuring out how to survive.

It was in the next day that I joined a group of fellow zombies, trying to learn from them how an undead person went about what they did. And shortly after, I met up with Nicholai, the Russian.

I walked alongside of him now, in silence. He would look over at me every couple of moments or so, his gaze cold and apprehensive. I knew that he wasn't sure what to make of me, just as I wasn't sure what to make of him. I could tell from his uniform that he worked for Umbrella, which at first unsettled me. I had never fully trusted Umbrella, and I was certain that they had done something to allow the city to fall into ruin. But right now I felt vaguely grateful that I had met up with this man, and that I wasn't alone.

"My men should be waiting here," he said suddenly, opening a badly kept door and waiting for me to go in first. He closed it behind him, looking around the area cautiously before falling into step beside me.

There was a pile of skids up ahead, and not far beyond that, a fire that turned the black sky overhead slightly pink.

Nicholai climbed over the skids, stopping to look over his shoulder at me indifferently as I slowly climbed up – and then fell off. For a split second, I thought I heard him snort in amusement when I tried to stand back up.

"Mikhail, Carlos! I have something to show you!" he called loudly, and after a moment two men came out of the nearby trolley, stopping in their tracks at the sight of me.

"What in hell is that?" the one asked in a Latino accent, Carlos, I assumed. "And why is it still alive if its heads not attached?"

"Travis," Nicholai said gruffly, "A scientific anomaly. It's intelligent."

"What?" the other one, also Russian and more than likely named Mikhail, said.

"Go ahead. Write something."

I took out a piece of chalk and irately scrawled the words "I AM NOT A 'THAT' OR AN 'IT'. I AM A 'HE'."

Carlos seemed to find that comical, while Mikhail was still in a state of near-shock.

"See? I found -," he paused briefly, glancing down at my words on the pavement. "Him – in an alley on the way back."

"What are we going to do with him?" Carlos asked. "He isn't in very good shape…"

"He says he needs food. But he can't eat with his head like that."

"We could always staple it back on," Mikhail suggested, and I turned to look at Nicholai.

"I suppose that could work," he said, "But we don't have a stapler, least of which one that's heavy duty."

"I'll go look around for one," Mikhail said, setting off before Nicholai could even get a word in. I guess he was eager to get away from me.

I walked a few feet away from Nicholai and sat down against the wall, setting my head down next to me. This whole experience was weird… But then again, who wouldn't think so? Although part of me was appreciative that I had managed to hang onto who I was, it ate at the back of my mind that I didn't know how or why that was even possible. Zombies were just… zombies… stupid, undead killers.

What had made me different?

I was almost afraid to ask the question, even in the quiet recesses of my mind.

Nicholai had gone over to Carlos, where they spoke in hushed voices, probably about whether to trust me or not. I wouldn't blame them. If I had been in their situations, I would have just killed me a long time ago. But maybe it would take more than just that to kill me… From what they had said, I knew zombies were supposed to "die" when their heads are, well… gone. But I was still here, if I wanted to be or not.

I placed my hand on the knife in my pocket, contemplating that last thought with slight aversion. 'I was still here', trapped in a nightmare… And there was no certain way out…

Carlos came towards me, Nicholai having gone off somewhere while I was lost in thought. He knelt down in front of me, and looked me over for a moment before politely asking, "Are you okay?"

I simply answered with a thumbs-down.

"I can understand why… We're going to try to help you."

"Try." I thought.

"The Commander thinks he knows some people who could fix you up better than we can. He's going to try to get a hold of them."

I didn't look up at him.

"Uh, listen. If you ever need someone to talk to… Well, not 'talk'… Sorry about that."

My decapitated head managed a smile, which seemed to creep the poor guy out as much it did me, but he nodded and seated himself close by.

"I wish you could talk… Then you could tell us what happened to you," he sighed more to himself than to me, "If the Commander can find those two guys, you might just be able to."

I looked at him as questioningly as possible.

"Oh, right! Sorry, I forgot to tell you… They worked for Umbrella… Well, they still do… But they worked in the labs while the city was still open. If they're still alive, they can probably fix you up."

There was a sound from behind us, and Mikhail came around the corner, carrying what appeared to be a staple gun, probably from a hardware store. He smiled slightly, holding it up.

"You think this will do?"

"Let's give it a try," Carlos answered, gingerly picking my head up from the ground and holding it over where it once was, trying to line up the torn edges.

When he was certain he had it, Mikhail came around, placing it cautiously against the pale flesh of my neck.

"This might hurt," he warned in a hesitant manner. "Try to stay still."

The first staple throbbed; my nerves not being damaged enough to have stopped sensing. I wanted to raise my hand to my throat like one would to knock off a biting horsefly, but I stayed still, waiting for the makeshift surgeon to finish his work.

The subsequent staples stung a bit as I became accustomed to the feeling they created, pulling the flesh together tightly. When he placed the last staple, he stepped back, admiring his work, while Carlos gently took his hands away from my head.

"Looks stable," he said and Mikhail nodded, trying on a grin.

"He looks great. Like it never happened."

I smiled weakly, taking chalk and writing the words 'Thank You' on the pavement to my right. I wanted so badly to say more, but writing couldn't express what was in my mind. A mixture of appreciation to them for being trusting enough to help me, resentment towards the people responsible for making me this way, and desolation at the thought that I may never again lay eyes on my friends and family again…

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_It wasn't actually supposed to end there, but I never thought up the next part yet. Don't know when I will either, 'cause I've got other things I need to update, but I'll try. Lately all I can think of is music videos to make…_

_Oh well, if you're actually reading this after all this time of it sitting around doing nothing, leave me a review and let me know what you thought. And maybe a suggestion, or something…_


	4. With One Foot in the Grave

_Ugh… I've got so much stuff to update more often, like this…I know, I know – after a year of working on this, you would think it would be longer than four chapters. Well, I work on a lot of stories, and I have a hard time coming up with anything for this anymore… It's like I go brain dead when I open the document, or something… If anyone who originally read this when I started is even still reading, I'd be amazed._

_I'm not sure where this story is going from here, 'cause I haven't thought much about it… But, I think the main plot of RE3 will come into this soon…_

_I'm going to let it write itself and see where I end up, hopefully somewhere where I'm inspired. Anywho…_

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Chapter Four: With One Foot in the Grave

Restless… Restless and starving…

I blinked once, finding myself in a place dominated by orange and green blurs. Where was I? I didn't know, but I didn't feel surprised to find myself there. It almost felt normal, like I was supposed to be…

I opened my eyes again, gazing around disoriented at the blurs until they came into focus. Lilies.

I was lying on the ground, surrounded by the forms of hundreds of bright orange lilies that felt cool against my skin. They gathered close around me, like a flower blanket, their aroma sweetly perfuming the air. Behind me and on either side I could make out the canopies of tall trees, blocking out the grey sky, the leaves waving in the gentle breeze, while the foliage of the poison ivy vines clinging to the trunks stayed ominously still.

It was quiet, except for the rustle of the leaves, and somewhere in the distance I could hear a familiar voice…

"Travis…" it called again and again.

I blinked and I was back in the alley. I had been asleep, dreaming.

Hm, zombies dreaming…

I settled back against the wall, considering going back to sleep, when the voice from my dream came again.

"Travis?"

I looked around, finally spotting the source. It was Amanda, one of my Aunt Kathy's two daughters!

The young girl was standing close to a pile of rubble, looking at me fearfully. Her clothes were visibly dirty, and it seemed she had been on quite an excursion. I held my hand out in her direction and she gasped, ducking behind the rubble as though she thought I wanted her for dinner.

I wasn't surprised. She had probably seen the zombies at work, and it must have been obvious that I wasn't human anymore.

I reached over to my side, picking up my chalk and writing on the pavement 'Mandy, you're okay!'

She hesitated for a long time, took a few steps closer slowly, watching me cautiously, then stopping to read my message.

"Travis," she said quietly, "What happened to you?"

'I was attacked,' I wrote, 'But I'm okay now.'

Mandy's gaze never left me, and I could tell that she was weighing the situation carefully in her mind. "You're one of them now, aren't you?"

I nodded slightly. 'Yes. But I won't hurt you, I promise.'

She looked at me in silence for a while, before coming closer and sitting down on the pavement in front of me.

'What happened to the others?' I jot down.

"I don't know… A monster came into the apartment and we left… But we all got separated on the way over to the car park and now I don't know where they are… I just kept wandering around looking for them, and I found you."

'Everything will be okay. I'll make sure nothing bad happens from this point on.'

She muffled a sob, rubbing the back of her arm across her eyes. "I'm so afraid they're gone…"

I knew how she felt. Since this whole thing began, I had been questioning whether I'd ever see my friends and family again. And by this point, I was starting to lose hope.

I reached out my hand, placing it on her shoulder and she threw her arms around me in a tight embrace.

"I'm glad you're here."

I held her close to me until she began to doze off, then I took out the CD player I had found in the pizza parlor. Together, we drifted off into sleep to the sound of The Smashing Pumpkins, her nestled gently in my arms.

"Hey," I heard suddenly, opening my eyes.

We must have been asleep for a while, because the CD had since stopped and the only sound in the area was the crackling of the huge fire burning nearby.

"Who's your friend?" It was Carlos.

I picked up the chalk. 'Mandy – family friend.'

"Are there any others?"

'Missing. She hasn't seen them recently. My mom was with them.'

"I'll look for them – I'm sure they're probably somewhere safe," he reassured and I nodded. "It might be safer to move into the trolley. I've been seeing a lot of zombies hanging around just outside of here."

I gave him another nod and carefully picked the sleeping girl up, carrying her towards the trolley that made me think of Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood, while Carlos resumed patrolling the area. Inside, I laid her delicately on a seat, watching for a moment as she murmured something in her sleep, and then turned to exit.

When I stepped back down onto the asphalt, I was met by a familiar voice from nearby.

"I found one of them." Nicholai had just come through the far door that led back out into the alley, leading a lanky, dark-haired man in a bloody lab coat, who seemed rather disturbed already, scrutinizing his surroundings warily. Until he laid eyes on me.

The poor fellow, apparently terrified by either my presence or appearance, went to turn back towards the door, but Nicholai grabbed him by the shoulder and forced him to come closer. "This is what I told you about. He's intelligent – on a human-level."

The man was shaking and I could smell the fear practically dripping off of him, interlaced with the scent of the blood on his coat. It made me hungry.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked, his voice heavy with anxiety.

"Fix his… injury," Nicholai replied, eyeing me from his spot, "Would it be possible to repair his vocal cords?"

The man gave me a look of near disgust, before looking away again. "Perhaps… It depends on how much they have decayed…"

"Well then, I'd suggest you get to work," the Russian responded, giving him a shove in my direction.

He whined very quietly, slowly coming towards me, as Nicholai wandered off, possibly to find Carlos. I just looked at the man, wondering exactly what it was about me that made him skittish when he had been working for Umbrella. I wasn't like the other zombies; I hadn't eaten anyone… yet.

"M-my name is Gabriel…" he said hesitantly.

Gabriel, huh? The Archangel of Judgment?

"I'm going to take a look at your neck and see if I can maybe patch you up a little bit better than the staples have." He chuckled faintly, probably out of apprehension.

Before either of us had time to move, a low growl came from nearby, and I peered around Gabriel who had froze as soon as he heard the sound, slowly looking back over his shoulder.

Standing a couple yards away was my once good-natured German Shepherd, Robbiecomefront, whom I thought I had killed. But, being as he had become a zombie himself, I should have realized he wouldn't be so easy to slay. He hadn't changed a bit since I'd last seen him, except for the large amount of blood dried in his fur, and he seemed to be just as aggressive as last time, snarling at us like a wolf about to attack a moose.

I reached steadily for the door, watching Robbie for any sign of an attack. Once my hand had met the cold iron handle, I turned quickly, yanking the door open and stumbling up the steps as fast as I possibly could. Gabriel was right behind me, but before he could get inside, Robbie grabbed him by the foot, trying to pull him back outside.

He was clinging to the edges of the doorway for dear life, trying to jerk his foot from the dog's grip. He finally managed to kick Robbie in the face, and dove inside, landing on the floor. I slammed the door shut, watching as my old pet began to circle around the trolley like a vulture.

Gabriel lay on the floor, catching his breath. He finally sat up and pulled his pant leg back, finding several wounds where Robbie's teeth had punctured his ankle. I went a little closer to him, and he glanced up at me.

"I think I will be okay. They're just punctures, nothing serious," he said, trying to sound hopeful, but failing miserably. This guy obviously knew what was going to happen to him eventually, but he didn't want to acknowledge it. He sighed. "Why don't you sit down over there, and I'll see what I can do for you."

I took a seat on the bench, and Gabriel examined my neck for a little while, before taking out some tools he had in his lab coat pockets, and began to pull out the staples one by one. I didn't really feel anything until he began to stitch things back together. After what seemed like a year, he finally tied the thread, and gave me a weak smile.

"Try to say something."

I opened my mouth, and to my surprise, I actually heard something. "Did you ever hear about Cocaine Lil? She lived in Cocaine town, on Cocaine hill. She had a cocaine dog and a cocaine cat, they fought all night with a cocaine rat."

I had my voice back! It sounded a little raspy and awkward compared to when I had been alive, but I didn't care. I could finally speak again. One question came to mind, though. "When I… came back… I could only groan. Why can I talk now?"

"I'm not fully sure, but it could have been because your vocal cords had not adjusted to the, err, change."

I shrugged, and then smiled back at Gabriel, giving him a gratified nod. "I can't thank you enough."

"Think nothing of it." He sat down nearby, looking extremely worn out, and rubbing his ankle. I was beginning to wonder how much time he had before he began to change, as much as I didn't want to think about it. But I couldn't deny that if he didn't get help, he would die.

To take my mind off of it, I went over and sat down next to Amanda, who opened her eyes. "Hi, Travis," she said sleepily, looking around. "Where are we?"

"In the trolley."

She stared at me in shock. "You… talked…"

"Yeah."

"You… can talk again?"

"Exactly."

"That's great!" she said, giving me a hug.

"No kidding." Listening to the near silence outside, I could hear the soft scritch scratch of Robbie's toenails against the pavement.

He must have still been circling around us, waiting patiently to see if a potential meal was going to emerge. I wasn't terribly concerned about it, unless he caught one of the others who had wandered off upon their return, but I was slowly starting to question whether or not there was any possibility he could get inside…

No one spoke, although I wasn't sure if it was because they were listening or just didn't have anything to say, and the scraping continued, traveling all around the outside, until it stopped. There was a growl, followed by a few gunshots. Footsteps drew closer to the trolley when the other noises had hushed, and the door slid opened slowly.

In stepped a woman, who looked around the compartment in a troubled manner. She looked from Gabriel, who was bleeding on the floor, to me, and then to Mandy, who gripped me tighter.

"Is… Is that a zombie?" she asked, pointing at me.

"Yes," I replied, and she jumped.

"Jill?" Carlos addressed the woman, coming in. "I'm glad you're safe. I see you've met Travis and Mandy."

Before the conversation could continue, Nicholai entered, walking over to the maimed Gabriel. "What happened to you?"

"That dog outside bit me," he replied unfocusedly, swaying back and forth a little.

"I think you should follow me."

He waited for Gabriel to get up and they left the trolley, heading for the alley door.

When they were out of sight, the discussion went on.

"What's going on?" the woman known as Jill asked, indicating me.

"Travis is practically a normal human – except he's dead."

She simply nodded, not sure how to comprehend the situation.

A shot suddenly rang out somewhere not too far away, and everyone turned to look in the direction of the alley door. After a moment, Nicholai came back through… Alone.

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_Eh… Didn't really want to end there, but I ran out of ideas. At least the plot is sort of getting somewhere now._

_And, the segment of poetry that Travis recites when he speaks for the first time, is borrowed from W.H. Auden's (my favorite poet) "Cocaine Lil and Morphine Sue", a rather creepy poem about a drug addict who dies after snorting coke._

_Anyway, that's it for now. I'm not sure when I'll be getting back to this, but in the meantime, if anyone is actually reading, leave me a review and tell me what you think._


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